


The Mummy

by thewinterspy



Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), The Mummy Series
Genre: Bugs, F/M, Gen, M/M, Red Shirts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewinterspy/pseuds/thewinterspy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the search for Hamunaptra, the lost city of the dead, Molly Hooper recruits the help of the adventurer Sherlock Holmes. What starts as an expedition to recover the ancient Book of the Dead becomes a battle to save the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> If you've had the pleasure of watching the Mummy series, then the plot has already started unraveling for you. This is a twist on the story, one you'll hopefully enjoy! To those who haven't seen the series, first off I highly recommend it, but it isn't necessary for reading this story.

_The city of Thebes, Egypt, 1290 B.C._

 

_She was a gift from the gods. Presented by the Roman Emperor to Pharaoh Seti the First as a peace offering, she was said to have come from the waters. The Greeks believed in a being known as Posiedon, a god who tamed the water. He considered them foolish. Water is not a docile animal to be tamed, not even by the strongest of gods. Water was a deity of its own, regardless of what the people of his own land believed. The best anyone could do to control it was to beg for mercy._

 

_He was quick to learn that she, whether the stories about her were true or not, was much the same._

 

_She was the pharaoh's mistress. No man but the pharaoh was allowed touch her. At first, he hadn't cared. Mistresses came and went with Seti, and_ he _had dedicated himself to his work._

 

_He had been experimenting with dark magic, slowly turning it to light by carefully stretching the boundaries. The pharaoh was content to let him do as he please, so long as he took the time to bless the pharaoh with pure incantations. There would be an uproar from the population of Thebes if they knew their beloved ruler was harboring a magician in his palace, but what they didn't know would not hurt them._

 

_She had been waiting for him one night. He had gone to the throne to see the pharaoh, and was surprised to see the girl – barely a woman – standing there. He had not seen the mistress since the presentation to the pharaoh's court. No one had. And surely no one had seen her so close besides the pharaoh. He turned to leave, but she beckoned him to her side._

 

_“Please, I only wish to talk to someone,” she nearly well begged. After a moment's pause, he joined her, his hands clasped in front of him._

 

_“I should not be here,” he warned._

 

_“Only a conversation. I haven't spoken to anyone at all. Tell me your name,”_

 

_He gave the title of lost priests._

 

_She told him her real name. After a pause, he told her his real name._

 

_He told her that only his family knew his real name. They were all dead. She admitted she'd never known her family._

 

_“Better to have never known,” he promised her._

 

_She asked him to visit her. He should have said no, he knew he should have excused himself and gone back to his chambers, but from the lonely look she gave him, he could not refuse._

 

_He visited her at night, when no one dared to look in the shadows in fear of what monsters may hide there. He brought her the fruits of his land that she had never eaten before. She smiled and gave a hearty laugh as she tasted them. He decided she looked beautiful when she laughed. The nightly visits became more frequent, as the months stretched on. He told her of his art, of the practice he'd been doing. She told him stories of her past, of the great courts she had seen in her travels, of the fascinating people she had met. Where daytime had once been wonderful, he now cursed the sun whenever it arose. Morning meant he would have to leave her side._

 

_She was the one that suggested it._

 

_“No!”_

 

_“Do you not want to be with me, my love?”_

 

_“Of course I do-!”_

 

_“He is in the way. We must get rid of him. We shall get rid of him and run away from this place. Start anew. I want to spend my life with you,”_

 

_He kissed her._

 

_She took his hand and pressed it to her stomach._

 

_“We will do this. For us.”_

 

_He knew he loved her._

 

_She knew she loved him._

 

_They were willing to risk life itself for their love._

 

_The pharaoh's balcony was illuminated with torches, light glinting off the palace of gold. He stood watching the stars, until he heard the faint rustle of someone entering and turned. She looked like the divine nymph they had claimed she was. She truly was a gift from the gods, he thought as he tilted her chin up with two fingers, kissing her. His hands closed around her shoulders, tugging her closer. Soon. So soon he could let himself have her. They were so close to being free. Together._

 

_The curtains were nearly torn open as Seti moved in, approaching her._

 

_“What are you doing here?” he demanded. His eyes landed on the smudge at her shoulder, the designs on her skin ruined. The pharaoh fixed his gaze upon her face again and snarled, “Who has touched you!?”_

 

_He stepped behind the pharaoh, and nodded to her._

 

_She looked over his shoulder._

 

_He was allowed the first stab into the pharaoh's body._

 

_They stole the Pharaoh's life easily. In their glory, they forgot they were still mortal. The Medjai, the pharaoh's bodyguards slammed against the doors being held by his priests._

 

_She turned to him, shooing him away._

 

_“You must go! Save yourself!”_

 

_He shook his head._

 

_“No.”_

 

_“I will stay to hold them back. You must flee! Only you can resurrect me!”_

 

_“I won't leave you!”_

 

_He pushed away the priests, his brothers in practice that devoted themselves to him._

 

_“Get away from me!”_

 

_She shook her head, her eyes watering. She pushed him away, pushed at his chest to hold him back. His mouth moved to speak, but there was no words to describe this farewell._

 

_He was pulled away from her._

 

_“You shall live again! I will resurrect you!”_

 

_She screamed and sobbed as the Medjai took her life away from her._

 

_It was easy work to take his beloved's corpse from her tomb. He brought her to Hamunaptra. The city of the dead. Deep in the labyrinth underneath the city lay the sacred Book of the Dead. To bring his love back from the dark underworld to which she had been sent, he led a ritual with his priests to bring her soul back._

 

_He chanted._

 

_She breathed._

 

_But the Medjai had followed him, stopping the ritual before it could finish. Her soul was sent back, and he had condemned himself and his priests to damnation. They were to be mummified, dried and wrapped and buried alive. As the sole alive conspirator of the pharaoh's betrayal and murder, he was forced to endure the worst of all ancient curses. To suffer an eternity of agony. The curse had only been written of, never bestowed. He was mummified, and eaten alive by scarabs, buried underneath the statue of Anubis._

 

_He was sealed inside his sarcophagus for all eternity._

 

_She waited in the afterlife for him._

 

_But he never went to her. For he was waiting as well. Waiting for a time when he would be awoken from his slumber._

 

_For a time when the entire world would know of his wrath._


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cairo, 1926

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness, the reception this has been getting is amazing! Thank you for your kind feedback. Feedback keeps authors like me afloat, so thank you thank you thank you. Here's another chapter for you lovely folks. This poor project of mine is unbeta'd, and it's dedicated to the two poor buggers that let me make a group on Skype to liveblog writing this, Anna and Ash.
> 
> I haven't had much sleep in the past week I'm so sorry.
> 
> Disclaimer for like... everything.

 

 

_Museum of Antiquities, Cairo, 1926_

"You did not." 

 

“I can explain-”

 

“You did not,” the curator repeated numbly, staring around.

 

The entire library had collapsed, a city in itself in utter shambles. Standing in the middle of it was his hopeless librarian, hair undone from its usual ponytail. Her mouth bobbed uselessly, her hands moving as if it would provide a proper excuse. The englishman waved a hand at her, silencing her frantic gesturing.

 

“Enough- enough of that! Ms. Hooper, I run a very intricate museum with very little staff. I only put up with you- you-” His fat finger wobbled as he pointed it at her, his face turning beet red.

 

“Well,” Molly Hooper cut in hastily, tucking her hair back behind her ears. She carefully stepped over a fallen column of books to move closer, “I-I can translate ancient Egyptian. I can date artifacts, and I...” her back straightened as she reached her concluding line, “Why, I'm the only person who could take care of this library! I'm the only person in miles that can,”

 

“And look at what a spectacular job you've done,” her boss said, throwing out his arms to bring attention back to the destroyed room. “You would be wrong about all that! Only put up with you for Peter, god bless his soul. Best contributor to this museum out of anyone I've ever known,”

 

Molly recoiled at the mention of her father, her hands interlacing in front of her. She looked down at them, biting her lower lip. The curator stared at her, his face hard. Then, he gave a sigh and dropped his arms. He put his hands on his hips, and pinched his mouth to the side as he tried to regain some calm. Finally, he wiped a palm over his face, and pointed to the mess, “I don't care how you do it, but I want this entire library put back into place. Now!”

 

“Yes Stamford,” Molly murmured, head hung. She didn't bother to watch the man walk away as she stooped down, picking up a book.

 

_The Ritual of Embalming._

 

The very text that had gotten her into this whole mess. She'd been sorting books belonging on the S shelf, when she noticed a book very much out of place. Out of her pile of biographies on the great pharaohs of Egypt, the details of the mummification process was something many readers did not care to know. Most scholars knew the process inside out, aside from having experienced being mummified themselves. Still, every text had their place, and the S shelf was most certainly not the place for that book. Fortunately for her, the R bookshelf was across the aisle. It was simply a matter of balancing on her ladder to reach it. Unfortunately, Molly was not a very well balanced person. She ended up tumbling over, her ladder knocking down the S bookshelf. Then that knocked down T... U... V... going far past WXYZ... back to A...

 

"Oops," she had said faintly amidst the destroyed shelves. Who'd known one person could cause so much damage?

 

And all because of a book, too.

 

Grumbling to herself, she sat on the floor and started picking up loose papers. How she would move bookshelves twice her size, she'd never know. Maybe she could get the others to help her. They wouldn't mind. The boys working at the library were sweet souls, always willing to lend a hand... Although, thinking about it, Arthur Shappey wasn't the most helpful of people, even when he was in a helpful mood.  _Especially_ when he was in a helpful mood.

 

There was the scraping of footsteps from the gallery.

 

Molly raised her head.

 

“Hello?” she called out, getting to her feet. She moved towards the gallery. The book was discarded on a side table.

 

The gallery had been closed to the public. Stamford was having the exhibit of the Middle Kingdom's lost treasures remade. The room flickered from the torches that lined the wall, casting strange shadows in strange places. The work in progress gave Molly the creeps, to be honest. Real sarcophaguses sat in the room. It was as if she were walking through a graveyard. A graveyard where the dead were made a spectacle. A puppet show of real corpses. People, even the dead, did not like to be made a fool of. It made Molly uncomfortable, but she never dared voice her opinion to the curator. Stamford barely tolerated her as it was, god knew he wouldn't stand around to hear her complain.

 

Molly picked up a torch to light her way, and nearly yelped as a draft howled through the room. There must be a crack in the wall, she supposed. Molly would have to talk to Stamford about it. She gave a small sigh, moving past a row of sarcophaguses... then slowly retraced her steps as she realized one was open.

 

“Hello?” said Molly, her voice quivering. She stepped closer, past the sign that read _Nerfertiti,_ naming the owner of the coffin. Her hand moved to touch the sarcophagus, just as she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

 

Molly's scream ricocheted off the walls. She pressed her hand to her chest, catching her breath.

 

“Jim, don't _scare_ me like that!” she scolded, swatting her hand back down to her side. Jim looked utterly baffled. He was still dressed in that suit ensemble he wore to his lectures at the university. _Mr. Brook,_ they called him. He'd always said he hated that name. He would say the name reminded him of his father, remembering a childhood he never spoke of with a dark look in his eyes. Numbers were his comfort, his paradise retreat. She'd always tried to share that pleasure with him, the security blanket that equations created. But to be honest, she'd attended only one of his lectures and decided not to go again. Numbers were a bit nonsensical to her.

 

History was her soother. Unravelling the past by cutting into the flesh of it. Finding the tumor that ended a civilization ages ago, curing the ignorant through the method of telling a story. Unfortunately for her, she lived in the present, and the present wasn't exactly the greatest of places to be.

 

“I didn't mean to. Is everything alright?” James asked, moving close to grab her elbow gently. She pulled away to slam the sarcophagus shut, then put her hands on her hips.

 

“No, no it is not _alright._ I've gone and angered Michael Stamford, made a complete mess in the library-  oh, it's all rubbish right now!” she insisted, pulling away to throw her hands up.

 

“I wondered what that was back there,” Jim offered lightly. He only smiled when she sent a glare in his direction. He hooked his elbow with hers, patting her arm as he guided her to a nearby bench, “Never fear, darling Molly. I have a present for you,”

 

The librarian let out a sigh that ended in a chuckle, shaking her head, “Oh Jim. Not one of those-”

 

“This is different, Molly. Just take a look,” he vowed, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket, “I was accompanying a student to the prison. He had been offered a job to handle their accounts, and we were given this.”

 

“I can't take another one of your trinkets to Stamford. I'm sorry, James, but I'm in enough trouble as it is, I can't bother him with noth-” she cut herself off as the man revealed a small, curious box. Reaching out slowly, she took it from him with both hands. Molly tilted it from side to side, studying the box.

 

“... -ing. Nothing, this is... Oh... Oh Jim,” Molly murmured, in awe. She felt the edge of the box give away as her careful grip shifted, and it snapped open. Inside the box, a folded piece of paper sat, waiting to be read.

 

“I told you, Molly. I told you, one of these days, I would find something,” Jim declared, getting as excited as she was. She beamed at him, leaning in to kiss him. Molly put her hand against his chest.

 

“My darling fiancee, you have indeed found something,”

 

* * *

 

 

The couple stood at the curator's door, beating their fists against the door until it swung open. Stamford's face was dark red, as he glared at the pair.

 

“If I let you in, will you _stop it_?” he hissed. His fury hardly dampened Molly and Jim's giddiness. They merely nodded eagerly. With a huff, Stamford stepped to the side, allowing them to enter. Molly and Jim stepped in, and found that Stamford wasn't alone.

 

The curator shuffled back to his desk, apologizing to his guest, “I am terribly sorry. My librarian gets a little overexcited,”

 

“No matter,” the guest replied breezily, giving a thin smile, “I make the company of one who is much the same.”

 

Molly scurried over to Stamford's desk, thrusting the box under the man's jeweler's eyepiece, “I'm sorry Stamford, but this is terribly important. Possibly the most important thing to have ever entered this museum. Ooh, and this! Don't forget this!”

 

Hastily, she took the folded paper from her pocket and opened it up on Stamford's desk. She pointed to the box, where an elaborate cartouche was stamped on top, “You see that? That is the seal of Seti the First. The very pharaoh. The wealthiest of them all. And-and-” she directed her boss' attention back to the map, “You see? This would be almost four thousand years old.”

 

The librarian looked around at the men in the room, giving a theatric pause.

 

“It's a map to Hamunaptra,”

 

Stamford scoffed, leaning back in his chair, “Oh, don't make me laugh, Ms. Hooper. That's a-a fairytale! A story treasure hunters like to tell around the campfire,”

 

Jim's eyes seemed to sparkle in glee, “Hamunaptra? The city of the dead.”

 

“The burial ground for the pharaohs of Egypt,” Molly went on, grinning, “Created by the pharaohs to protect their graves. _And_ their gold.” She waved a hand to the map, “All the texts that bother to consider Hamunaptra real say that it disappeared, thousands of years ago.”

 

Stamford shifted the map closer to his lamp to see better. His face was entirely unamused, “And all those records are fictional, Ms. Hooper, you know that. No such thing as Hamunaptra,”

 

“Well, this map proves that wrong, obviously,” Molly said, reaching to point at it once more. She yelped, snatching her hand back as the map slipped too close to the lamp, causing it to catch fire. Jim lunged forward immediately, taking the paper and stamping on the fire with his hands. It was too late, though. Too much of the map had been burned out.

 

The Irishman whirled and snarled at Stamford, “You destroyed it!”

 

Stamford, hardly looking guilty, replied, “It was an accident. But for the best. Look Ms. Hooper, Mr. Brooks.” He leaned forward on his desk, folding his hands together as he looked between the couple, “It is better if you forget about this entire ordeal. Many men have died in their search for the lost city. Good men, men I know. No one has ever returned from the journey,”

 

He reached to take the box again, but Molly snatched it up before he could, giving the man a watery glare. Stiffly, Jim took his fiancee's arm and turned to leave the room, when the guest spoke up again.

 

“Well, there is one.”

 

Molly and Jim stopped, turning to face the man. The man, dressed to the nines in a three piece suit, got to his feet. He leaned against an umbrella as if it were a cane, one hand tucked into his vest pocket. Molly's mouth dropped as she recognized the man's face. He was in the papers, Britain's High Commissioner to Egypt.

 

“If you have been in London in recent years, you will know my brother's name,” Mycroft Holmes said, looking down at his umbrella as he twirled the handle, then back up, “Though, perhaps not. Sherlock has always been an elusive sort,”

 

* * *

 

 

_Cairo Prison_

 

“You shouldn't have come,” Jim murmured as they followed the warden through the courtyard. The walls around them were lined by bars, where ruffians and ne'er-do-wells sneered down at them. One man whistled at Molly, causing Jim's grip on her arm to get iron tight. She put her hand over his, rubbing her thumb over the knuckles of his hand soothingly.

 

“I am safe with you,” she assured him, “Besides, Mr. Holmes said his brother would be waiting in a private area,”

 

Her assurance fell flat when the warden stopped them in front of an empty cell. Molly gave a confused blink to the silver-haired warden.

 

“I'm-I'm sorry, I thought-”

 

“Your private meeting, ma'am,” the man said, his accent English and his tone gruff. He gestured to the pen as if he were inviting them to tea.

 

Jim's frown deepened, one that Molly was hasty to ease.

 

“Well, this'll do fine, then, Mr...” she trailed off, embarrassed to realize she had forgotten the warden's name.

 

“Lestrade. Greg Lestrade, ma'am,” the warden introduced.

 

Jim shook his hand stiffly, biting out a tight, “Hello.”

 

As the warden went off to see where their requested prisoner was, Molly stroked her fiancee's arm, “Dear Jim, come on now. It's only a talk. Don't you want to find out what's on the rest of the map?”

 

“I don't want too many people involved in this project,” Jim spoke, his tone dark.

 

Before Molly could question his foul behaviour, there was a loud bang that made her jump, her hand fluttering to her chest. The door in the cell flew open, and two guards pushed in a roguish, foul looking man. Being imprisoned hardly suited the man. His dark curls, reddened by excessive time in the sun, had grown out, falling over his frighteningly pale eyes. His cheeks had hollowed out, speckled by short, stiff hairs. His clothes were dirtied and his skin was marred with scratches and bruises.

 

“Holmes, you've got guests,” Lestrade said in lieu of a friendly greeting. He rattled the bars, causing the man to flinch from the sound. Sherlock Holmes rolled his eyes at the warden, and turned his attention on Molly and her fiancee. His gaze was surprisingly sharp and focused, as if he wielded his vision as a scalpel to cut through her.

 

“No.” he said immediately.

 

“Ex-excuse me?” Molly stammered. She glanced over at Jim, who frowned at Mr. Holmes.

 

“You haven't even heard our request,” the Irishman said cautiously.

 

“You came to ask about Hamunaptra, and the answer is no. I will not talk about it,”

 

One of the guards came along to whisper in Lestrade's ear. With a grumble, Lestrade excused himself, warning Holmes, “Cause trouble and I'll have you on the rope. Damn who your brother is. I'll be back,”

 

“I tremble with anticipation,” Holmes said with a yawn. He plopped down at the side of the cell as Lestrade moved off. His legs were straight, and his hands moved to steeple under his chin. For an apparent criminal, his posture was ramrod straight, his body language screaming posh. Confused, the couple looked at each other. Jim stepped closer to the cell, letting go of Molly's arm.

 

“So you were there, then? Hamunaptra?” the professor asked. The prisoner ignored him entirely.

 

“We found this puzzle box, you see,” Molly piped up.

 

After a pause, one of Holmes' eyelids slipped open, casting a glance over at the librarian.

 

“Puzzle box?” he asked, his voice tilted in interest. Molly smiled, knowing she had something. She pushed past Jim to kneel down beside the bars. If she wanted to, she could have reached through and touched the prisoner.

 

“We found a way to open it. Inside was a map,” Molly explained.

 

Both of the man's eyes opened, “A map? In Ancient Egyptian?”

 

“Yes!” Molly enthused, “But...ah... it was destroyed...”

 

She heard Jim sigh behind her, but Holmes was utterly enthralled with what she had just revealed. He angled himself to face her, leaning forwards. His fingers curled around one of the bars, showing his dirtied, yellow nails.

 

“Yes,”

 

“Yes what?” Molly asked.

 

Rapid fire, Holmes replied, “Hamunaptra. I was there,”

 

 _“Really!?”_ the librarian squealed, then realized herself. She cleared her throat and asked in a quieter voice, “Really?”

 

“Yes, _really._ City of the dead, keeper of hidden treasures,” Holmes' voice was quiet, quiet enough that only Molly could hear. She most certainly did not mind. Her ecstatic mood suppressed all worry.

 

“Oh my,” she let out a faint giggle, unable to help herself, “And could you – could you take us there? My fiancee and I?”

 

Holmes looked amused, a faint smile curling on his lips, “Oh, you wouldn't want to go to Hamunaptra,”

 

“I do! I really do!”

 

“You really want me to tell you how to get there?”

 

“Yes!”

 

Holmes grabbed Molly by the front of her blouse and yanked her forward. He snarled in her face, _“Then get me out of here!”_

 

If she so much as twitched, she would have been kissing him. Her breath caught in her throat, and anything she could have said died on her tongue. His pale gaze, green under the sun, held hers. Molly had never met anyone with such focus. The unusual moment was gone as soon as it came. The prisoner yelped as he was hit in the back of the head. He was dragged away from the bars. Jim grabbed Molly by the shoulders and yanked her towards him at the same time.

 

“He attacked you!” he cried as Holmes was forced back through the door.

 

It clanged shut behind them, but it wasn't loud enough to cover Molly's protest, “No, no! I'm fine! He said he would take us!”

 

Lestrade hurried back to their side, already apologizing as he approached, “I'm so sorry about him. He's gotten a free pass for only so long because of his brother, but that was it, we'll take care of him after that, don't worry, I apologize for him-”

 

“Yes, well, I'm sure it's a daily affair,” Jim sniffed, pulling Molly to his side. She glanced up at her fiancee with a frown, then looked back to Lestrade.

 

“I'm-I'm sorry, what do you mean, 'take care of him'?” Molly stammered. Jim leaned close to her, his voice near scolding.

 

“Take a look around, Molly, take a good guess to what's going to happen to him. We're in the gallows. He's going to be hanged,”

 

“What!? No!” she cried, but Lestrade was already walking away. She turned to Jim, hissing, “Tell Lestrade to set him free,”

 

“How can I possibly do that, Molly? Darling, he's condemned,”

 

“Holmes promised to take us to Hamunaptra. Bribe the warden! Do it, now!” Molly shoved Jim forwards.

 

Acting instinctively, the professor called out, “A hundred pounds for that man!”

 

Lestrade laughed, stopping only for a moment to call back, “I'd pay a hundred pounds just to punch the bloke. I can watch him die for free,”

 

“Jim!” Molly begged. He turned to face her, his face faltering. In his hesitance, Molly called to the warden, “ _Three_ hundred pounds!”

 

The warden ignored her, moving away. James took Molly's arm, murmuring, “Look, nothing is going to save this man, so let's just leave it-”

 

“He knows the way to Hamunaptra!”

 

Lestrade's stride stopped. Slowly, he turned.

 

“Hamunaptra?” he asked, looking at Molly.

 

“Molly, no!” Jim practically begged, but his fiancee nodded.

 

“Yes, yes Hamunaptra. He will escort us there. And- and if you let him go, we'll give you ten percent,”

 

“Fifty!” Lestrade challenged.

 

“Twenty!”

 

“Forty!”

 

“Thirty!”

 

“Twenty-five!”

 

“Deal!” Molly exclaimed, beaming. Lestrade paused, then groaned, running his hand over his face. Knowing she had gained them a guide, Molly turned her smile to Jim. He plastered a smile over his furious expression a bit too late. Her smile faltered, but in the end, it was worth it. She had saved a man's life.

 

And they were going to Hamunaptra.


	3. Chapter Two

_Giza Port_

 

A week after the visit to the prison and that curious first meeting with Sherlock Holmes, Molly found herself dragging along near a dozen bags as her fiancee led the way to the passenger barge that would shorten their trip to Hamunaptra.

 

“Bloody Americans,” Jim snarled, shoving past a pair of them arguing over a map. Molly, keeping close to her fiancee, glancing over her shoulder as she caught a few sparse words.

 

“An-anyway, you say zat eet is eempossible, but no no, I can do zat-!”

 

She did not frown, but her mouth set in a thin straight line. Jim wasn't paying attention. Strange, she had always known James to be an observant man, carefully eyeing every detail. It was what allowed him to rise through the university's hierarchy so easily. His job was what had allowed him to offer her such elaborate gifts when he was first charming her. It wouldn't have taken much, Molly considered as she thought back on it. Just the fact that a man was paying attention to her was mindblowing enough. But that was then. Ever since visiting the prison, Jim could have cared less about her. Desperate for conversation, she jogged to keep up with him and said, “It'll be a shame to leave behind Toby. You know he gets terribly lonely,”

 

Her fiancee cast a glare over his shoulder at her, and said nothing. He merely slumped along. Molly bit her lower lip, and tried again.

 

“What about our friend from the prison? Do you really think he'll show up?” Before she could help herself, her mouth ran off, “Well, maybe not. He was a dirty ruffian, can't imagine what he'd done to land behind those bars in the first place. I don't believe he's really the High Commissioner's brother, maybe just a ward of state. And Mr. Holmes couldn't have liked him that much, otherwise would he have been hanged? Probably because of the stench on him, I reckon, completely unbearable, much like his personality-”

 

“Well, I've heard that it has a sparkling aspect to it,” that rumbling baritone spoke lightly.

 

Molly turned, and sucked in a quiet breath.

 

The man from the prison stood behind them, but he was barely recognizable as such. He'd shaved, revealing how bizarrely pale he was under the desert sun. His hair had darkened from the gingery tinge Molly had seen in the prison, and she found herself wondering in the man had spent his days indoors since she and Jim had freed him. Not that much of an adventurer then, she thought grimly. He looked as though he were uncomfortable in the clothes that only an adventurer would relish being in. Not to mention, the blue scarf that looked oddly out of place, as if it were an anchor for him. Still, with his curls that had been tamed and those sharp pale eyes, he was ever so dashing and... well, long story short Molly wouldn't mind being locked in a tomb with a man with those looks. Even if he had that amused smile turned onto her, as if she were the butt of some joke.

 

“H-hello,” she said weakly, “Um, we're just getting on board. Do you have everything?”

 

Holmes held up his own duffel bag, and raised an eyebrow at the amount of bags she was carrying. After a pause, Molly explained hastily, “No- no! No no no no, this is-”

 

“That's five more _no_ s than the usual,” Holmes felt inclined to point out.

 

“S-sorry, I just mean, this isn't all mine. I've got some of Jim's, you see, he's always leaving things behind,”

 

“Apparently,” the man murmured, his gaze going over her shoulder. She followed his line of vision, and was disappointed to see that Jim had disappeared into the crowd.

 

“Yes, well, we all do silly things, don't we?” she offered lightly.

 

Holmes was looking behind her, “Yes... they do, don't they?”

 

His gaze slowly slid back to her, and she was trapped like a fly in honey.

 

“I-I-” Her stammering was cut through by Holmes short, “I'll take that. You hurry up,”

 

He took the luggage out of Molly's right hand and, leaving her to stare after him with a speechless, bobbing mouth, moved past onto the passenger barge. A soft sigh escaped her involuntarily. After she'd realized what she'd done, she crinkled up her face and tutted to herself.

 

“Oh Hooper, snap out of it. Just a man,” she muttered.

 

She turned to look for Jim, having lost him in the crowd. Molly went up on her toes, and noticed his head in the crowd. She was about to call out for him, when she noticed that he seemed to be in an argument with a young Arab man. From the quick pace of the conversation, it couldn't have possibly been English they were speaking. Strange. Jim didn't speak Arabic... With a set mouth, she went to go step onto the boat, when she bumped into a stranger.

 

“Oh! I'm terribly sorry, I'm- _you!_ ” Molly cried, incredulous. The warden Lestrade dusted himself off, looking as if he were about to shoot off an insult. In the nick of time, he seemed to recognize Molly, and beamed.

 

“Ms. Hooper! Fancy seeing you here,” he said. He picked up the bag that he'd dropped.

 

“Just what exactly are you doing here?” Molly asked stiffly. If she'd had room, she would have crossed her arms.

 

“Me?” Lestrade asked airily. He gave a grin, and slung his bag over his shoulder, “Came to collect my twenty-five percent of course.”

 

He started up the ramp, calling over his shoulder, “Come now, Ms. Hooper. I work with criminals. You can't expect me to trust your _good word_ on it.”

 

* * *

 

 

The night brought a chill to the waters, but the company that Lestrade met on deck was lively and entertaining. As it turned out, another expedition to Hamunaptra was on board. Seemingly Americans, at first glance, but the warden was surprised to meet the small Russian lad that remained on the outskirts of the group, fidgeting constantly. Lestrade opened his mouth to question why a kid was going on an expedition, when the apparent leader of the Americans sidled up to him and held out a hand.

 

“James T. Kirk,” the man introduced, “Rumor has it you're aiming for Hammy Patty?”

 

Lestrade laughed, shaking Kirk's hand, “Yeah, well, I had some free time.”

“Please,” a rigid man at Kirk's side muttered, crossing his arms, “Like this is some fun vacation. Raidin' ain't just a walk in the park. The sun isn't a ball up in the sky, y'know! Only reason why it's up there is to fry you up for some lizard's dinner, or worse, _bug's_ dinner _._ The desert is disease and danger wrapped up in sand and silence. You know what happens when you get sand up your-”

 

“Bones,” Kirk sighed, slinging an arm around the man's shoulders. He gave Lestrade a tight smile, “Always keeping it light for us,”

 

“You know that Hamunaptra is _in_ the desert, right?” Lestrade asked the man.

 

He grumbled, tossing his head in Kirk's direction, “Not like I can leave this bastard alone out there. He needs a babysitter,”

 

Kirk grinned, clapping the man on his shoulders as he moved away, “Bonesy loves me,”

 

“I have gray hairs because of you!” Bones hollered at Kirk's back. He sighed, and gave Lestrade a despaired look before moving away. The space they left was quickly filled by a stiff backed man, with sharp, calculating eyes and a haircut only a mother could love.

 

“I profoundly apologize for them,” he explained, his voice giving way to something Lestrade could spot from his skin tone – Egyptian, “Social curtsies are not something they like to provide,”

 

“Oh, hell if I care. Lestrade,” the warden introduced, holding out his hand. His new friend stared down at it as if Lestrade had offered to take him to bed. Slowly, he retracted his hand.

 

“Spock,” the man spoke, his gaze still trained where Lestrade's hand had been. Then, he raised it to speak directly to the warden, “My name is Spock. I'm a translator for the Enterprise's journey,”

 

“Enterprise? 'S that what you're calling yourselves?” Lestrade scoffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “Seems a bit... dunno, a bit corporate, don't you think?”

 

“Perhaps,” Spock murmured, looking over Lestrade's shoulder. The warden turned to see what the matter was. Down the deck, he spotted Kirk next to a blonde woman, dressed as if she were on a luxury cruise, topped off with the most elaborate of hats. They were sharing a laugh together, as Kirk's arm moved around her waist.

 

Lestrade whistled, taking his own hat off to fan his face, “Blimey, who's the bird?”

 

“Carol Marcus,” Spock replied. The warden faced the man, alarmed by the sudden vicious tone in Spock's voice. He raised an eyebrow, but Spock paid no mind, still watching after the couple as he explained further, “She's a... friend of the captain's,”

 

“Wish girls were that friendly with me,” Lestrade snorted, watching as Carol Marcus laid a hand on Kirk's chest, leaning in to steal a kiss.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you mind?”

 

Molly jumped in surprise at the voice, looking up from her book to see a friendly looking older man. He gave her a small, apologetic smile, and used three fingers to hold a curious bag that appeared to be like Mr. Holmes' duffel bag, “Sorry, it's just a bit too busy everywhere else for me. You wouldn't mind, would ya?”

 

“Oh, oh of course not. Here,” Molly patted the table to get the man to set down his bag. He did so, not as much setting it down as dropping it. She jumped again at the loud sound, not exactly expecting it too sound so... metal-y. With a limp in his step, the man sat down across from her, and rolled out the bag, revealing an assortment of weapons.

 

“Christopher Pike,” the man introduced in lieu of an explanation as to why he had equipped himself with – oh was that a _Webley?_

 

“Molly Hooper,” she offered warmly, leaning across the table to shake his hand. He smiled at her kindness, shaking her hand gently, “Pleasure to meet you, Molly. Now, what is a pretty young lady like you doing here?”

 

“I'm on an expedition, Mr. Pike,” she said proudly, sitting up a little straighter. He paused in cleaning out the pistol.

 

“You are?” he asked lightly, his tone suggesting he was entertaining a child, “Don't tell me you're on your way to Hamunaptra,”

 

“How-how did you know?”

 

“You're an aspiring young Egyptologist. Book in hand, eyes lit up. Most of you are much the same. All want a taste of that golden city. Well hell, takes one to know one. Used to be one of you. 'Til the war happened, at the very least,”

 

“Is that where your limp came from?” Molly asked before she could help herself. Immediately guilt swamped her, wondering if she'd asked something a bit too personal. Mr. Pike's amusement didn't seem to waver, though, so she decided her question was alright.

 

“No. Came from my last visit to the city of the dead,”

 

Molly gasped, snapping her book shut to lean eagerly over the table, “Ooh, you've been there too!?”

 

She gained a raised eyebrow in return.

 

“Once upon a time, yes. Was fresh from the war. I had a friend, George. George Kirk. He invited me along with an entire regiment to see if we could find Hamunaptra and take it for our own. I was the only one that made it out,” Pike sighed, stretching out his leg with a slight wince, “Not without pains of my own, mind you. I had something in my leg, apparently it tore through muscle. We had to cut it out. I'd show you the scar, but I do have some decency left in me,”

 

Molly laughed uneasily, both amused and perplexed by the egyptologist's brashly honest idea of small talk, “I won't ask after it, then. How fascinating, though, that you made it out. I know someone too who survived. Do you know-”

 

“Ms. Hooper, I thought I was your little secret,”

 

Molly yelped at the sound of the voice, her hand fluttering to her mouth to silence her cry quickly. She gave a sigh as she realized that, once again, Sherlock Holmes had appeared out of nowhere to fluster and flounce. Molly sent him a look, one that he merely smirked at.

 

“This guy was at Hamunaptra?” Pike asked skeptically, leaning his elbow on the table to point up at Holmes.

 

“It was thrilling, I can assure you,” Holmes deadpanned.

 

Molly felt her cheeks glow in embarrassment over Holmes' rude manners. She kept her gaze down at her book, unable to see the staring contest. After a pause that seemed to stretch too long, Pike rolled up his weapons and said, “Well, I better be getting some sleep anyways. Pleasure to meet you, Molly.”

 

He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, limping off down the deck. Holmes promptly took his seat across from Molly. He picked up her book, turning it over to look at the spine.

 

“ _A Description of the East and Some other Countries._ A beginners' book,” he scoffed. Molly was quick to snatch it back.

 

“And one of my first books about Egypt. Call it a bedtime story,”

 

Holmes raised an eyebrow at her, “Your bedtime story is an account of dead man's vacation?”

 

Molly humbled, looking down at her book, “Well, um... what do adventurers like you have for bedtime stories?”

 

“I don't know. I'm not an adventurer,” Holmes was leaning against the railing. He watched the dark shores for a moment before turning those sharp eyes to Molly, “ _Merck's Index_.”

 

That surprised a laugh out of the librarian, “The chemistry book?”

 

“Much the same,” Holmes said, something that was almost a smile flickering on his face, “I wasn't exactly raised in the most ordinary of environments. They were both chemists, my parents.”

 

“Were?” Molly noticed.

 

“They're dead,” he explained shortly, “At least, my father is. My mother is close enough,”

 

“Oh,” the librarian shifted in her seat, feeling rude to have pushed the envelope too far. The not-adventurer seemed unperturbed though, simply watching the shadows of the night. Molly sat forwards a little and asked, “If you're not an adventurer, what are you?”

 

“A detective. Consulting detective,” Holmes said. At Molly's bemused look, he went on, “Of course you haven't heard of it, I'm the only one in the world. I invented the job. Had to change from private detective when the police started to come to me for help,”

 

His story sounded all too much like hokum. She shifted in her seat, unsure of how to proceed with what she wanted to say. Holmes looked like a calm man now, but Molly's blouse still had wrinkles in it from when she was grabbed. Something dangerous was waiting under the surface, just waiting for Molly to take a wrong step.

 

“Did you really go to Hamunaptra, Mr. Holmes? You don't seem the type to-”

 

“To what? Scour tombs? Seek treasure? Uncover the dead?” There was a sudden edge to his voice that made Molly want to shrink back. Holmes' sharp focus was so concentrated on her, she thought for a moment she would faint from the utter intensity. But she held her ground, watching him as slowly, something in him seemed to soften, becoming nostalgic.

 

“I'm not, I shall admit,” he spoke, “An old friend of mine was an anthropologist at the British Museum, wanted to me help uncover a map that had gone missing from the museum's storage. When we found it, greed got the better of him. He told me to hire a guard and we'd be on our way to Hamunaptra. We got there and we were surrounded.” His throat worked, and the rest of his story was delivered coldly and without mercy, “Victor Trevor was shot. Our guard took off for the hills. I was left for dead in the desert. There is no treasure there. Only sand. Only death,”

 

Molly stared at the man, wide-eyed. Her mouth moved, trying to speak. It would've been easier to turn invisible than to speak. There were few men that had that look in their eye. Molly had only ever seen it in soldiers. Only ever seen it in her father, when he thought no one was looking. Holmes, disappointed by her reaction, or perhaps her lack of reaction, got to his feet.

 

“Hopefully that was a good enough bedtime story for you, Ms. Hooper. You ought to get some sleep, god knows it'll help with those bags under your eyes. Maybe then you'd have some appeal,”

 

And with that, Mr. Holmes walked down the deck, far away from the conversation.

 

* * *

 

 

“It's late, you should head to your room.”

 

Carol Marcus looked up in surprise, her mouth moving as if she were about to cry out.  Then, she recognized that coy smirk. Her mouth pulled to mimic it.

 

“I love the night,” she revealed, as if it were a piece of juicy gossip, watching the man as he sauntered closer, “And the dark. It's like a second home to me,”

 

“Oh?” the man purred, his hands fastening at her waist, stepping to press against her back. She hummed, closing her eyes to experience the pleasure of his mouth, tilting her neck to his access. Her fingers, long and thin, interlaced with his as he wrapped his arms around her front. Then, as her blue eyes opened, she sucked in a quiet breath.

 

“Look...” she breathed. The man lifted his head, confused.

 

There were wet footprints on the deck, disappearing into the depths of the boat.

 

“Medjai,” Carol turned to face her master, “I think we'll have to start a bit sooner, don't you?”

 

“I think you're quite right,” he murmured. He took one of her hands in both of his, and kissed her knuckles, “If you must.”

 

The woman's blue eyes flashed, shining gold for a moment as her mouth curled into a smirk.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barge on the Nile, 1926

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been a while. Sorry about that, school started up and I needed a bit of time to settle in. But, the next chunk is turning out longer than I expected it to be, so I decided to split it all up and give this to you! Hope you enjoy!

“Hech'eyah... Ka... Kah... Khan? Ko- Con... collie wollie oxen free!” Molly tossed the book aside, having utterly given up on translating Hebrew. That was what Jim could read, Hebrew. He'd given the book to Molly as a joke, knowing she could have never gotten it in a thousand years. She threw her arms out and landed on her bed, hair tousled. Try as she might, she simply couldn't sleep. Mr. Holmes' story kept turning over in her head. The events he spoke of sounded utterly traumatic, yet he delivered it with such... cold demeanor. And that insult – oh, who did that man think he was? A pharaoh of Egypt? That was downright cruel of him, but something felt... off about the way he'd said it. A defense mechanism? A wounded animal lashing out?

 

She sat up with a groan, grabbed her pillow, and covered her face. Of course she would turn someone like him into a victim to excuse his actions. Here she was, obsessing over some broody man with high cheekbones when she was engaged to a wonderful man with a promising teaching career. These thoughts she had were the thoughts of a fool. Mr. Holmes was a guide, nothing more. It was best if she focused on the expedition at hand. With a sigh, Molly dropped her pillow to the side.

 

A hand closed around her throat before she had time to scream. The veiled man pushed her back down on the mattress, his gnarled face sneering into hers.

 

“Where's the map? Where's the key? Where did you hide them?”

 

Molly moved to fight against him, when he pushed a thin blade to her cheek. She gave a small squeak, stammering out, “K-key? Map, key, wh-wh-what do you mean map, I don't-”

 

He's looking for the map to Hamunaptra, she realized. Her eyes grew wide, sucking in a quiet breath. For god's sake, was she about to get killed for that? She must have turned her gaze towards it, because her attacker turned to look at her luggage. The chest stood open, the map and the box lying side by side amidst her blouses and underthings. The man turned to her, his dark eyes wide with glee. He gave her an open mouthed smile, showing off his missing teeth.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured, and raised his knife.

 

Molly screamed.

 

* * *

 

 

“Look, I... realize I may have been a bit... no no... I've to come apol... no, not that... Hello. Oh, don't be stupid!”

 

Sherlock cursed to himself, kicking his foot against the ground in a huff. As he grumbled, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, in case he decided to do something moronic and actually knock on the door. Ms. Hooper had gone to bed hours ago. Hell, mostly everyone on the barge had. Well, they'd either gone to bed or fallen asleep where they sat around poker tables. Typical American behaviour, though he'd been surprised to see his old warden amongst them, cards still in hand as he dozed on. He'd yet to see the professor. Maths professor, probably. Shot in the dark, but he'd seen the way the man's beady black eyes darted about, counting everything he saw. Stalls. Chairs. People wearing hats. Escape routes. Rerouting his train of thought, he realized he had not seen the man at all since the boat set off on its journey. Funny, Ms. Hooper hadn't seemed to mind being left alone by her fiancee. Suggests usual behaviour from him, to disappear out of nowhere.

 

Ms. Hooper was a woman of sentiment, he knew. He could tell from the locket around her neck and the way she'd tolerated Mr. Pike's stories. She craved the stories of an older man, reaching desperately for a father figure that had many adventures to talk about. Perhaps the career field of an egyptologist would suit her well. There were plenty of old dusty warts wanting to boast about their useless accomplishments working as egyptologists. Then again most people of any career were that sort of person. Still, the fact that Ms. Hooper was eager to be attentive was refreshing in a person. She craved observation, but also to be observed in return. Of course, Sherlock Holmes was no matchmaker, but the fact that Jim Brook hadn't paid the least bit of attention to Ms. Hooper was screaming “unfit match”.

 

The fact that their mouths had nearly touched back at the Cairo Prison was of little relevance to the fact that Sherlock was quite ready to apologize for his brash behavior. It would be more attention than stupid Jim Brook ever gave the woman so far on this trip.

 

He was raising his hand to tap his knuckles against the door when there was a loud grunt, and the creaking of a bed. After a pause, he slapped his hand to his face, realizing that maybe he'd found the answer as to where the professor was hiding. He was an idiot. A bloody, bloody idiot that needed some sleep. And perhaps a wash of his brain to clear that sound out of his head. With a sneer of disgust, Sherlock turned on his heel and marched down the hall.

 

A piercing scream stopped him dead in his tracks, and had him whirling around to race back to the door. Surely no one in the throes of passion could sound that terrified.

 

“Ms. Hooper?” he called, banging on the door with his open hand. He jiggled the door knob, but it would not budge. Letting out a frustrated noise, he stepped back and gave a kick. After the first kick, the wood splintered. The second kick got the door to swing open.

 

First to register, the man lunging at him. One of the Medjai. He'd be able to tell one of those warriors years from now. Smaller in height, older by weathered face, wrinkles around the eyes, graying facial hair. Perhaps when he was younger he could overpower by strength alone, but he did not have the advantage of youth. He did however, have a blade the length of Sherlock's hand. Possible targets: solar plexus, if under his thobe he was not armed; joints, weakened by old age, no doubt; nose, honestly one the size of that was begging to be hit-

 

“HOLMES!”

 

Second to register, Ms. Hooper on the bed, rubbing her throat. Grabbed, threatened most likely. Oh god, she was in her nightie. What was she pointing at?

 

“HOLMES, HOLMES LOOK OUT!”

 

Third to register: the lamp hanging on a hook attached to the wall. The lamp that swayed precariously as the warrior tapped it. The light caught Sherlock's eye, and his gut twisted as he recognized what the man was doing.

 

Light was a very clever distraction.

 

Belated, fourth to register. The man's hand at his throat and a searing hot trail streaking down his arm where the knife dug in. Sherlock didn't have the air to yelp in pain, only the energy to claw at the man's fingers.

 

As his vision swam, fifth to register. A loud thunk and the hand releasing him as the Medjai collapsed. Molly Hooper stood where the warrior once was, shaking like a leaf. A Description of the East and Some other Countries was in her hands. Her eyes went wide, and a small, “Ohh,” escaped her.

 

Sherlock let out a cough, rubbing his throat as he stood up straighter, “You keep a curious company, Ms. Hooper,”

 

“He wasn't-!” As if she suddenly noticed the book in her hand, she dropped in with a startled noise, “I mean, h-he said he was looking for the map.”

 

The detective frowned, mouthing the word for a moment before shaking his head, “Where did you put the map?”

 

She pointed to her chest, where her puzzle box and the map sat. He moved quickly, whipping the paper out from under the box, and turning to open up her lamp. The map was thrust into the fire, which caused a loud yell from Ms. Hooper.

 

“What are you doing!?” she cried, grabbing his arm and pulling it back. He hissed in pain, and the map, barely a crisp, fluttered to the ground. Ms. Hooper stooped to her knees, despairing over the bloody piece of paper, “We needed that!”

 

“No we don't,” Sherlock groaned, despairing over her naïve thinking as he clutched at his arm, “You don't need that thing, I'm your map.”

 

A cry from another part of the boat brought them both to attention. The sound was soon followed by the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire. Sherlock cursed under his breath, wincing as his grip on his arm got tight.

 

“Those men are on board looking for that thing. They don't want us getting to our destination. If we want to get out of here alive, we have to go.”

 

“But-!” Ms. Hooper protested. Sherlock rolled his eyes, and impatiently pulled her to her feet.

 

“Time to go,” he said, and the pair raced down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

 

Lestrade ducked out of the way of the oncoming bullets, stooping to where Kirk was reloading his gun.

 

“What the hell is going on?” the warden growled, grabbing one of the guns that were littered at Kirk's feet.

 

“Medjai,” Kirk explained, “Wanderers of the desert, descended from the pharaoh's guard. Sort of pointless for them to stick around - pass that pistol, won't you? Anyways, what I'd like to know is why a bunch of sand warriors are running around guns blazing on a boat.”

 

“Hell if I know. Where's the rest of your crew?”

 

“Dunno. Spotted Scotty and Sulu cleaning out the bedrooms. Think they're looking for Spock – by the way, wouldn't have happened to see a pretty blonde? Blue eyes, big fancy hat?”

 

Lestrade shook his head, still wondering who Scotty and Sulu were, “Can't say I have.”

 

The American cursed, his hands stuttering as he loaded the shotgun before working faster, “Damn it. Gotta find Carol. Catch my back?”

 

Kirk jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the right, down into the halls of the barge. Lestrade cocked the gun, and gave a smirk.

 

“Aye mate, gotcha.”

 

“Thanks,” Kirk gave a smirk, and then leaped to his feet, racing for the shelter of the hall. Lestrade stood, firing across the deck to where the infiltrators of the ship were hiding behind their own table fort. As soon as Kirk was clear, he ducked again, catching his breath. He glanced over to where the man was checking to see if he was alright, and gave a nod. The American turned tail and hurried down the hall.

 

* * *

 

 

“Carol? Carol? _W_ _oah!_ ”

 

From an open door, one of the Medjai came out swinging. Kirk dodged the sabre, his arm blocking over his head to push the man's arm aside. The blade caught in the wood of the wall, giving Kirk time to hit the man's side. The Medjai doubled over in pain, and before he could fight back, the treasure hunter took his head and drove it into his knee. The warrior collapsed, and Kirk was left winded from the surprise attack. He moved on, cautiously peeking into rooms. He winced as he caught sight of a man in his night clothes, lying dead. His shirt was stained red with blood.

 

Disgusted by the sight, Kirk turned away, just as the ship was jostled. Knocked off balance, he caught himself on the door frame. He looked around confused.

 

There was a figure at the end of the hall. He squinted his eyes. Hey, he knew that hair...

 

The wind howled, accompanied by a woman's cackle. The barge went dark as the lamps went out.

 

Kirk cursed, his gun flying forwards. The ship was silent. Shouldn't there be gunfire? Voices from the main deck? A bit more swearing from anyone other than him?

 

“James?”

 

“Holy-!” he pointed the weapon in his hands in the direction of the voice, ready to shoot the trigger, until he realized he recognized that voice.

 

“Carol? That you?”

 

“Yes, yes it's me. Kirk, I'm scared.”

 

“It's fine, it's fine, we've got it. But I have to get you off the boat.”

 

“It's so scary, Kirk. I don't like the dark,”

 

Kirk laughed, “Don't you worry. Hey, I think I've got a light...”

 

“Oh, could you? Could you please, darling?”

 

“No problem, yeah, let me just...” he stooped to the ground, putting his gun down. Kirk patted around in his pocket a few times before he found a book of matches, “Here we go,”

 

After a few tries, he managed to pull out a match and strike it against the box. The single flame gave out a circle of illumination, casting shadows around Kirk, and revealing Carol's features. Her eyes shone yellow against the flame.

 

With a snarl, her face contorted. The bags underneath her eyes sagged, breaking out into a hideous green rash. As she lunged forward, so did her mouth and nose, lengthening into a snout. Her teeth broke out, sharpening and pointing out from her chapped lips, hardening to the same, scaly rash that had spread across her head. .When she raised her hand to strike at Kirk, he noticed the golden fur her arms had acquired, the claws that he wasn't able to avoid as they raked across his face. He cried out, stumbling backwards from the creature. As he did, he dropped the match. A single, stubby toed foot came down on the flame, engulfing Kirk in darkness once more.

 

He hardly dared to breathe. What the hell was that? Belated, he finally manage to take a shaky gulp of air. As he did, there was a vicious roar, and the hall was lit once more as flames burst around the creature that had taken Carol Marcus' form. It snapped its jaws, nearly as long as the man himself, and that was warning enough for Kirk. He crawled backwards on his elbows as the creature prowled closer, its front paws sweeping out at him. Finally managing to get his feet under him, he surged up, nearly running backwards as the creature gained enough momentum to charge after him. He escaped the hallway, just as the monster burst forth like a demon from hell.

 

Kirk managed to grab an arm to help him up, only to realize he had taken the help from a Medjai. His hand flew to his pocket to grab a pistol, but the warrior seemed to have lost all care for him. The Medjai cried out, hurrying backwards.

 

_“Ammit! Ammit has risen!”_

 

With that holler, the screams Kirk were searching for before came to life. He mouthed the word, confused. What was an Ammit?

 

He looked around, just as the creature caught sight of him again and raced forward to attack him.

 

“Right. That's an Ammit.”

 

With that revelation, he turned and fled from the monster out to eat him.


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barge on the Nile, 1926

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd, so hopefully you'll bear with me.

If Molly had to make a list of all the possible scenarios in which she imagined herself at Sherlock Holmes' side in her nightie, trying to escape a group of trained warriors out to kill them for a map that Mr. Holmes conveniently destroyed would probably be on the very bottom of the list. Not that she'd been spending time on that train of thought. As they moved from the hallway to Molly's room, Holmes ducked so he was closer to Molly's height. Molly was confused for a moment, until another sputter of gunfire was heard – and five holes appeared along the wall where the detective's head had been before. They took shelter in the hallway once again.

 

“We have to find Jim,” Molly panicked, turning to look over her shoulder, but Holmes grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back to face him.

 

“You stay with me for now. Understood?”

 

Molly pushed him off, “I have to find Jim! I'm not going anywhere without him!”

 

“I really hope you have not disillusioned yourself into believing that your fiancee can be found whilst we are under fire-!”

 

The boat swayed cautiously, and everything went dead silent. Not a breath was heard. Confused, Molly turned to face Mr. Holmes. “What was that?”

 

His brow wrinkled, trying to figure it out himself. Molly could nearly well see the cogs turning in his head. She turned to look out of the hallway again...

 

… As a door down the deck burst open, accompanied by an impossibly fast spread of flames. As the combustion shot towards them, Holmes grabbed Molly, pulling her towards him to block her. Even with her face pressed to his shoulder by a hand in her hair, it could not block the sight of the monster that escaped from the fireball. From the flames came a creature of unspeakable horror, snarling with crocodilian jaws. It towered above the people on board the barge, both explorer and warrior, so much that when it stepped forward to let out a earsplitting roar, the wooden floor groaned cautiously. Its front paws seemed to be that of a lion's, clawing out and catching a poor man that had the misfortune of being too close. With the foot long claws pierced through his front, he was tossed into the river. Several man charged forward to stop it, guns blazing, but the hind feet, flat and stubby like a hippo's, crushed them all.

 

“This is new. I don't remember _this_ being part of the job,” Holmes said cautiously.

 

“Oh my god. That's Ammit. Oh my god,” Molly's heart dropped to her stomach, dread filling her.

 

“Doesn't exactly enlighten knowledge, Ms. Hooper,” Holmes said, watching the creature as it stomped off to wreck havoc.

 

Her big brown eyes had gotten even bigger, staring after the animal hybrid, “Ammit, the creature that lives at the feet of Anubis,” She looked up at Holmes, and not with a look that inspired hope, “Also known as the Devourer of Souls,”

 

“Fantastic,” he deadpanned, “Don't suppose I'd jinx anything if I asked Anubis to rein in his pet?”

 

She shook her head, “She isn't a pet. Far from it. She feasts on the hearts of those that don't pass the test of the scales of justice in the afterlife.”

 

"You know, I've been considering that as a career in later years," Holmes offered, checking over his shoulder - only to have Molly tug him down as a scimitar narrowly missed his head.

 

One of the Medjai had turned his efforts from the attack on the creature, sneering down at the pair. As Holmes backed the two of them away slowly, Molly looked around for something to fight back with. There, on the ground, beside the glint of a blade, sat...

 

"Holmes, the gun-!" Molly cried. She yelped as the Medjai swung his scimitar again. Holmes ducked, tugging Molly to her knees with him. At first, she thought he was reaching for the gun, but his hand landed on the handle of the discarded blade.

 

Molly crawled to help him, but he was back on his feet, parrying the Medjai's next blow with the sword he'd picked up. She watched in awe, but mainly disbelief as he kept the warrior at bay, sharp slashes hissing through the air whenever the blades contacted. With a circular parry, Mr. Holmes knocked the blade out of the man's hand. He kicked out at the man's knee, making him crumple. Just as Holmes brought the sword up, ready to take a fatal strike, the man screamed, cowering backwards. But his eyes had gone over Mr. Holmes' shoulder, to the source of the shadow that suddenly fell over him.

 

Holmes turned just as the creature smacked its jaws, eager for a snack. The Medjai turned and scurried away, terrified. Molly reached out for his trouser leg, tugging him back frantically as she got to her feet. But he was frozen to the spot.

 

"Holmes," Molly warned, trying to yank him backwards as the creature stalked towards him. She had never known that crocodiles could smile, but there was a certain glint in Ammit's golden eyes that made Molly all the more terrified.

 

"Run Ms. Hooper," Holmes said, stepping into a defensive position.

 

"You just said to stay with you! Oh for heaven's-" Molly stooped down, picking up the gun that Holmes had ignored. She pointed it up and pulled the trigger. Holmes grabbed her, keeping her on her feet as the recoil threw her off balance. The bullet hit the creature, burying into its mane. It paused in its tracks, staring down. A wheezing noise came from Ammit's mouth as it looked back up.

 

Molly's mouth dropped in offense, "Is it - it's _laughing_ at me!?"

 

Holmes tugged Molly's arm, "Another time, please, Ms. Hooper."

 

He grabbed her arm, yanking her away. The gun clattered to the ground as the pair raced into the chaos of the deck.

* * *

 

The blood stains will be terrible to get out of the deck's floors, he noted as he wandered up the stairs from the depths of the barge. Well, that is if there was anything to salvage from the boat. It wouldn't take too long for the thing to sink, god knew he'd made a large enough hole. There were a few minutes yet, and there was still official business to take care of.

 

He carefully stepped over the body in Molly Hooper's room, looking around. Hooper hadn't made much of an effort to hide the key. She did not know of its potential, of all the power she had, half buried in her underthings. He scooped it up, tossing it in the air lightly. The screams heard outside brought a smile to his face. While he was working, his demon was at play.

 

Lifting his suit jacket delicately, he placed the key in a hidden pocket, and moved to leave the room. The Medjai warrior groaned as he began to resurface.

 

If he was surprised, he made no show of it. But he had assumed the Medjai was dead. He lifted the lamp from its hook on the wall, leaning down to get a better look.

 

The handle of the lamp slipped from his fingers, hitting the man in the head. The Medjai roared in pain, clutching at his face, but it was no use. The fire moved from his head to his body, spreading throughout the room.

 

He looked around the room at the mess he'd made.

 

"Oops." Jim mumbled.

 

He turned and went to look for Molly.

 

She was important, after all.

* * *

 

 

 

Kirk had reached the end of the barge when he stopped running and checked over his shoulder. Only to see that the thing was gone.

 

“What the hell-” he muttered, only to be grabbed. He yelped, his hand flying for his gun. He was tugged to the ground, behind a row of chairs.

 

Uhura rolled her eyes, passing over a gun from one of the many slings attached to her person. Uhura, a damn godsend for the Enterprise's expedition. After so many digs Kirk had gone on with the weapon wielding woman watching his back, he couldn't imagine not taking her along on his greatest adventure yet. Screw the people that said a woman wasn't meant for exploring. Uhura was more tough than most guards that wandered out in the desert, and she was nearly as scary as the thing that nearly had Kirk in its grasp.

 

“It's just me.”

 

“You scared the crap out of me,” Kirk said, nearly well hysterical. He took the gun. The woman huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes from where it'd fallen out of the usual ponytail.

 

“Care to fill me in, captain?” she asked, peeking up over the temporary shelter.

 

“Um, well my girlfriend's a monster,” Kirk said, his face crinkled up as he tried to process it. Uhura, who'd been busy retaliating to an onslaught of bullets, ducked back down to give him a stern look. He shook his head, putting on his most earnest voice, “No, _really_. Like-” He mimed the gator jaws that had nearly eaten him whole.

 

She gave another eye roll, putting on a very dry tone, “I thought you said that Carol was the prettiest girl you ever laid your eyes on.”

 

“Well yeah, she was. Until she turned into a _giant man eating monster_.” At her look of disbelief, he whined, “I'm serious! Carol's a crocodile! A giant crocodile! With lion bits – OW!”

 

Uhura had whacked him over the head.

 

“You're fighting with Carol, aren't you? You realize that calling her a monster is not the proper of handling a fight. If you're not going to use this-” Uhura reached out for the gun, but Kirk pouted and pulled it closer, “I'll use it!”

 

Uhura sighed impatiently, “Then would you help me with the problem at hand? You haven't seen Spock, have you?”

 

“I was busy being chased by a giant monster, thank you-”

 

_“Kirk.”_

 

“Right, sorry - don't hit me again.” Kirk held up his hands in defense when the woman's hand was raised. Her jaw twitched, as if she were going to say something else, or yell, or bite him. In the end, she seemed to decide against it. Instead, she collected herself, ignoring the background noise of chaos and gunfire as she spoke, barely restraining frustration.

 

“Jim Kirk, whatever is going on between you and Carol, just go talk to her. What's the worst that can-”

 

There was a loud chorus of screams from the other side of the chairs. The wood between them shook, creaking warningly. Kirk looked around the barricade, confused, and was nearly run over by a man holding a sword and a woman in her night gown.

 

“What the-”

 

Before he even had to time to ask why the two strangers had taken up the extra space in their shelter, much to Uhura's rising fury and Kirk's bafflement, an inhuman bellow shook the night air. A loud scream came from Kirk's left, as Uhura scrambled backwards on her hands, staring up at the creature.

 

"What the _hell is that?_ " she shrieked. Kirk closed his eyes with a groan. Just when he thought he found a good place to hide too. He peeked with one eye, and standing over the table, the creature stood.

 

"Ammit. Devourer of Souls," the male stranger replied in response to Uhura's question, twirling the scimitar in his hand. Uhura sent the man an incredulous look, but he had focused his pale eyes on the forthcoming monster. Huh, that face did ring a bell or two for Kirk...

 

"Hey, do I know you?" he blurted. The man, surprised, glanced down at him. Kirk shook his head, going on, "You just look like a guy. Have we met?"

 

The man rolled his eyes, and looked back up at the crocodile jaws snapping at him. He raised the sword, steeling himself for battle. From behind the stranger, Kirk could see Uhura readying her gun.

 

"Weapons are not going to work," the woman in her night gown warned Kirk's comrade, her voice quivering.

 

"Well then what do you suggest?" Uhura muttered, her fingers flexing against the trigger of her gun.

 

A slithering growl came from the creature as it sauntered forwards. It snapped its jaws in the Kirk's direction. He flinched. A laugh, almost a purr, came from the thing.

 

The stranger held his ground, all the while speaking up, "Ms. Hooper, is there anything you know that can-"

 

His companion shook her head, knowing he was asking for her help, "Holmes-"

 

_"Try anything,"_ the man named Holmes implored, holding the blade in his hands higher as the creature drew closer.

 

"Um..." the woman - Ms. Hooper - rolled her wrist, as if encouraged ideas to come up, "Ammit... eats the hearts of those undeserving souls... said to live in a lake of fire... nothing says anything about killing her!"

 

Holmes' hand fluttered around the handle of the scimitar, curling and uncurling his fist. He muttered a few things under his breath, then asked, "I assume you all know how to swim?"

 

"What!?" Uhura blurted.

 

"Think about it. Why a lake of _fire_? Surely there's water in the underworld, where you have said this thing lives-" Holmes' left foot, put forwards to keep him steady in his stance, stuttered slightly as the creature leaned forward to sniff at him. He swung the blade, catching it on the snout of Ammit. It snarled, rearing back, then snapping her jaws at him. Holmes ducked, rolling behind the barrier that was quickly knocked away by a swipe of Ammit's paw. All the while, he continued, "Look at the anatomy. What do you see, Ms. Hooper? Crocodile, lion,  hippopotamus . Crocodile and hippos are _water dwelling_ animals, are they not? So-"

 

Kirk raised his gun and took shots at Ammit as it tried to take the rambling man in its jaws. It whirled on him, letting out a hiss.

 

"Shit," he muttered, and managed to slide underneath its legs as it reared up to crush him with its paws. Uhura was at his side as he dodged the creature, helping him to his feet. She took aim, just as a figure moved behind her.

 

"Uhura!" Kirk warned, afraid that it wasn't enough to save her. But, barely glancing over her shoulder, the guard knocked her elbow back, hitting the Medjai attempting to sneak up on her right in the nose. The warrior yelped, clutching at his face, which gave the woman time to grab him by the front of his thobe, and deliver a solid punch. He hit the ground, knocked out cold.

 

Uhura turned back to her leader, shaking her head.

 

"I hate desert raids,"

 

"Sorry," Kirk said, and moved out of the way as a giant hippo foot nearly acquainted him and his friend with the ground.

* * *

 

Across the deck, Molly and Mr. Holmes ducked and swerved around the limbs and the jaws threatening their lives.

 

"-if water is such a vital part of the two, why is there no water?" Holmes was saying, trying to slash at a front leg of the creature's, but to no avail. Ammit growled, swatting at Holmes. Molly grabbed him by the back of his jacket, pulling him back just in time to avoid the swiping claws.

 

"I don't know!" she replied hysterically, jumping out of the way as a paw tried to come down on top of them. Holmes jumped the other way.

 

"You forget the third animal, Ms. Hooper!" The man could hardly finish what he was going to say, as he stared in disbelief at the paw he had just avoided. It glowed red for a mere moment, sparks flying before flames erupted in the place Ammit had brought them. The fire grew unnaturally fast, making a straight line towards Holmes. He muttered under his breath, and hurried out of the way.

 

"Crocodile, hippo - lion? What about lions? For heaven's sake Mr. Holmes, they're just cats!"

 

Molly's mouth stayed frozen open as she thought it through.

 

"You _must_ be joking," she exclaimed. Holmes nearly collided into her in his rush, grabbing her by the arm, "Cats are afraid of water, that's your grand theory!?"

 

"Well I'd love to hear yours," Holmes said, and he whistled over his shoulder. Ammit bristled, snarling at the pair. It swung around to face them properly, nearly crushing the pair of expeditioners on the other side of the fire.

 

"Yes, that's right," Holmes cooed, nearly a sneer as Ammit stalked closer, "Come and get us, you mangy, ugly thing,"

 

Ammit growled, and rushed at them.

 

Holmes only warned Molly with a quick, _"Jump."_

 

He grabbed her hand and pulled her overboard with him. The creature let out a roar and followed them.

* * *

 

First off, the barge gets attacked by a wave of desert warriors. Then, a bloody demon from the pits of Hell goes stomping about, parading about on the other side of the ship, killing dozen of people simply by walking.

 

Lestrade had had worse days, but still. This day was not going as he had expected.

 

He was on the ground, delivering a hard punch to a Medjai when the ship heaved dangerously, throwing him onto his side. The ship's deck was now angled steep, and he was powerless as he slid across the floor, right under the railing. With a yelp, he grabbed at it, keeping him from plunging into the unsteady waters beneath him. Confused, his head twisted this way and that, trying to see if anyone would help pull him up. Or, at the very least, see the cause of the boat's swaying.

 

An inhuman shriek cut through the sounds of chaos, and Lestrade froze, staring at the water. The demon - thing - _whatever_ \- was flailing in the water, struggling to keep its jaws above the surface. The water bubbled dangerously around it, steam hissing. With another cry, Ammit was taken by the river.

 

Lestrade let out a sigh, feeling relief. Hell, that was one problem to not have to worry about. He'd wipe his hands clean of it. At least, if they weren't full. With a huff, he turned his attention back to the deck.

 

"Hey! Somebody help me out here!" he called, trying to pull himself up. He managed to get an elbow up on the surface of the boat, when it tilted again, rocking dangerously. Lestrade, struggling to hang on, was knocked across the side of the barge once, twice, before his hands slipped. He cried out.

 

Two hands managed to get a hold of his right one. He looked up, and let out a breath of relief.

 

"Come on now, come up here," Jim Brooks said, tugging at him. They managed to get Lestrade with his feet back on deck, despite its heaving. They both clutched to the railing.

 

"Where's your girl? Holmes?" Lestrade asked, looking around at the fights still going on.

 

"I was hoping you knew," the professor replied, staring at the place where the demon had disappeared in the waters.

 

Lestrade sighed, about to explain that he had not seen them since boarding, when Jim let out a noise of surprise, pointing, "Look, there!"

 

The warden turned his head, and mimicked Jim's sound, "Bloody hell, is that-?"

 

"It is. It's Molly. Molly!" Jim called, bracketing his mouth with cupped hands to make his voice louder, "See that, she's there, with Holmes!"

 

"Come on, let's go after them!"

 

The professor made a look of despair, which Lestrade merely returned with a gesture to hurry. Brooks sighed, and after a simple nod of resignment, they both jumped deck, swimming after the pair in the water.

* * *

 

The miserable crawl onto shore would've been fair less miserable if Ms. Hooper had decided not to fill the silence with her complaints.

 

"My clothes!" she despaired, gesturing to her own flimsy, useless nightgown, "And all our equipment, it's all gone, that's just _great_ , just fantastic! A little warning before throwing me off the ship would have been nice!"

 

"Well, the cat's claws come out," Sherlock drawled, taking amusement in the furious look she sent her way. It was a relief, seeing that Molly Hooper was not as dull as that timid, twitchy mouse that he had first met.

 

She let out a noise of frustration, crossing her arms over her chest. "We left Jim behind. I don't know what's happened to him, what if he's - he's-"

 

A sudden jolt of frustration made Sherlock stand a little straighter, glaring in return at her, "Well, if you were _observant_ , you'd see that he's swimming here, along with Lestrade."

 

"What!?" she said, snapping to attention, her arms dropping. Realizing herself, she placed them over her chest again. She stared out to the boat, and to the two bodies in the water, coming steadily closer. Molly nearly squealed, rising up on her toes.

 

"Molly!" Jim Brooks' voice called, once he was close enough. The woman rushed out into the water again, nearly tackling him as he got to his feet. They embraced each other, murmuring quietly. Lestrade slouched past them, catching his breath.

 

"Bloody hell," he muttered, looking back at the boat, "Didn't see that coming, did we?"

 

Sherlock watched as people evacuated from the boat. Jumping deck, forcing horses and camels to swim to the other shore. He let out a sigh, tucking his hands in his pockets, before letting his gaze trail back to the couple. Jim had taken off his own jacket, putting it over Molly's shoulders. She took it by the edges and pulled it closer, giving Jim a small smile. Timid, twitchy. Sherlock turned away, looking out into the stretch of desert that awaited them.

 

"No. No, I did not,"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look Ma, I wrote them off the boat! It only took.... neugh, longer than I care to admit. Hope you enjoyed reading (and let me know if you did! Feedback feeds my family).


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sahara Desert, 1926

_No matter how far they ran, their footfalls gave them away, echoing through the cursed city. His hand fell onto his friend's elbow, tugging him along._

_"Hurry, for god's sake, hurry!"_

_"My leg - my leg - I can't-"_

_"Come on now, into the tombs. We'll be safe, hurry!" he said, pulling him harder. The other man shifted his weight, hissing in pain. The clatter of hooves made them both look up, as the group of Medjai rounded the corner far back, gaining ground with each moment._

_"Go on," his friend insisted, pushing him away. He stumbled, staring at him in horror. After a wince, looking down at his leg, the man look up, and shouted, "For god's sake, run!"_

_"Shut up, we can both make it-!" was the returned protest, and he tugged at the arm closest._

_"Sherlock-"_

_Victor Trevor's words of warning were cut off by a loud shot, and he fell to Sherlock's feet. The detective stared down, terrified. There was no time - he had to go. He looked up. The Medjai were nearly upon him. Swallowing, he turned and raced away, dodging the wave of bullets that came upon him by ducking around a statue of Horus._

_The sand shifted beneath his feet, making it harder for him to gain momentum. Even if he had been running as fast as he could, a mere man could not escape a fleet of horses. Sherlock threw himself over a fallen column, catching himself the wrong way on his right foot with the landing. He cried out, cursing himself for thinking it was a bloody good idea. Now he was even slower than before... and he had cornered himself into a dead end._

_Nearly stumbling right into the side of a statue, he caught himself on his hands. Heaving air into his lungs, he slowly turned to the warriors. They formed a semi-cricle around him, raising their weapons. Execution. What a funny way to go, although he wasn't exactly surprised. He'd always assumed it would be for insulting the Queen, not entering a city. A city that wasn't bloody well worth that, that's for sure._

_Sherlock rolled his head back, closing his eyes. Well, he didn't have much to regret, not even this adventure, in the end. It would simply be the start of a whole new one._

_A shout of horror made him slowly open one eye. Something had spooked both Medjai and horse alike. Horses were rearing up, tossing one or two riders. The warriors were all crying out, making all sorts of racket. The group fled the scene, leaving Sherlock alone. He opened his other eye, brow furrowing in confusion. He stepped forwards, and slowly turned in a circle to see what the matter was._

_The statue he had stopped out seemed to be the head of a dog - the god Anubis, he reminded himself, studying the worn figure. He reached out slowly, pressing his hands against the limestone. Even at his touch, chips of stone fell away. They plopped to the ground, half buried in the sand. He dropped his hands, and stepped away. Seemed rather anti-climatic, wasn't it? With a frown, he looked around again._

_The sand rolled under his feet, throwing him off balance. He hit the ground hard, aggravating his hurt ankle. He yelped, and leaned over to hold it, but the sand wasn't finished. It tosssed him back again, and sprayed across the front of his body, burying his legs. He was being dragged under, he realized._

_"Finally," a voice like mountains quaking rumbled, "Finally, the heart of my own to take..."_

_Sherlock shook his legs out, trying to crawl backwards. The sand latched onto him, wrapping around his legs with the strength of constrictors. The ground moved, pushing underneath his body and pushing him down into the hole that formed. From it, a single hand, reaching for him...._

"Sherlock...."

_A voice, calling for him...._

"Sherlock Holmes...."

_Grabbing at his chest, at his heart, at something all the more valuable...._

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, and he bolted up. The action resulted in a splitting ache in his head, and a loud "Ah, fuck!" from someone other than him. He yelped, rubbing at his head, feeling his forehead damp with sweat. He blinked quickly, assessing where he was. He was in a tent, lying on the ground. Underneath him was a pillow, one that had not been there when he'd fallen asleep. Beside him was the bed that Lestrade had taken, although it was empty. Lestrade was now beside him, hand against his own forehead.

"You were having a nightmare," Lestrade explained, "You good now?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock replied stiffly, sitting up properly. He gave a small huff, looking towards the tent flap, revealing the shine of the bright Egyptian sun.

"Alright. That Jim bloke's getting us transport, we'll probably be up and at 'em soon. You'll see us outside," Lestrade clapped Sherlock on the shoulder, and left the tent.

Sherlock sighed, sitting up a little straighter. His arm throbbed as he stretched, reminding him of the last night. The Medjai attack, the fires, Ammit... He shook his head, and took a look at his arm. Although the stab wound had been bandaged when they had arrived to the small town, barely a market, really, it was in need of a cleaning. He sighed, and grabbed his jacket, lazily tossed over the end of the bed. He hooked it over his good arm, and searched about for his shoes. After pulling them on, he opened the tent and stepped outside.

Blinking through the sudden light, he shielded his eyes with his hand. The small town, barely a market, was sparsely populated, but he suspected that might was well be lunch hour. Off to the side, a man holding a group of camels was arguing with Professor Brooks. Jim seemed frustrated, getting nowhere. Lestrade was standing beside him, hands on his hips. Sherlock couldn't help but smirk at the group, and move towards them.

"Water?" Sherlock asked. Lestrade glanced at him, and pointed him towards a group of women huddled together. Barely sparing an acknowledgement of his gratitude to the warden, he walked towards the women. They tittered, staring at him as he came closer.

"Water?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow at them. They glanced at each other, seeming confused at his question.

"Ma'," one voice spoke up, translating the request.

The group turned, and Sherlock's mouth contorted, moving as if it were to open, and he locked his jaw at last second. The women had all been huddled around Molly Hooper, dressed from head to toe in a dark abaya. She smiled at Sherlock, then went on, "What is you need it for?"

Sherlock stared for a moment, until he realized she was asking him a question. He hastily replied, "My arm, it has to be cleaned before we set off, and-"

He gestured with it, making the smile drop straight from Ms. Hooper's face. She hurried closer, taking his arm carefully.

"Oh, yes yes, of course!" she said, then quickly turned her head to speak rapidly to the women. One of them went off, while the others dispersed, seeming to want to give the pair of them space.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at her concern, "It is fine, you know."

"Yes, well, ah-" Ms. Hooper mumbled. Realizing she was holding his arm, she pulled her hands back, lacing them nervously in front of her stomach. Feeling as awkward as she looked, Sherlock held his arm at the elbow, looking around. The professor and the warden were still busy squabbling over the camels with the seller. He cleared his throat, attempting to fill the empty air and its lack of conversation.

"What you did last night-" she tried.

"You look very-" Sherlock spoke at the same time as she did. They both sputtered, and turned their gazes away. Then, timid as ever, he looked back to her, and gestured for her to go first.

"Oh, um, I was just about to say. You were very clever last night. And brave," she added on hastily.

"Oh. Well," Sherlock shifted on his feet, straightening his spine. His chest puffed a little, "You were... good. Too. You were good too, I mean, with the- gun, and it didn't work really, but it was still-"

"Ma'," one of the Bedouin woman had returned, causing both of them to jump in surprise. The woman was brandishing a flask and a roll of gauze. Sherlock took them, thanking her. Ms. Hooper translated quickly, flustered. The woman nodded to them, and disappeared into one of the tents.

"Help me?" Sherlock asked, waving the bandages and water.

"Of course, yes," she said quickly, and he led her back to the tent he’d woken up in. Sherlock held the flap of the tent open, which she thanked him for, and cautiously looked around before following her in.

He sat down on the edge of the cot once inside, tugging off his jacket. Ms. Hooper sat a little closer to the end of the bed, where a chest substituted a table, and set the water and bandages down. Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt, and tossed it aside.

The woman turned to face him, and let out a very high-pitched squeak. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Problem?"

"Nope. None. I’m ready- _fine!_ I’m fine, are you? Fine. Good."

"Alright," Sherlock said, "Let’s just get started already."

He looked utterly confused as she let out a laugh that was closer to a wheeze. Instead, he rolled his shoulder and squirmed to get more comfortable. Ms. Hooper tutted, and touched his wrist gently, silently telling him to sit still. She took a moment to study the bandages, mouth pinched in a way that Sherlock was sure she wouldn't make if she knew she was doing it. Then, with a nod, she started to peel it off. When the wound was revealed, she clicked her tongue.

"You should have been paying closer attention," she tutted.

"So sorry," he deadpanned, "I'll think of that next time,"

"No need for sarcasm, that's probably good advice I just gave you,"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Probably?"

"Well, what do I know?" she murmured, picking up the flask, "About... desert raids, and whatnot,"

"Probably more than I did anyways. Then," he explained hastily when she glanced up with a confused expression, "My first time going... to Hamunaptra,"

"Oh," Molly said. She ripped a small piece of gauze to dab the wound, "Well... thank you?"

"It is a compliment," he assured her, the corner of his lip tipping up. The smile was quickly wiped off his face as she cleaned the wound. He hissed, jerking away. She caught his forearm, gently pulling him back.

"Hush now, it'll make you better,"

"I know that!" Sherlock said impatiently, wiggling in his spot.

"Then sit still!" she said, exasperated. She leaned over him, grabbing his other arm with her other hand, making it so she was practically on top him. He stopped squirming, looking at her in surprise. She blinked up at him, and after a moment, seemed to realize herself. Molly pulled back, clearing her throat, "Good. Stay still."

She pressed her makeshift cloth to his arm, and although it hurt, he managed to not squirm. He did wince, to which Molly muttered a quiet, "Sorry,"

"No no, it's... fine." Sherlock rolled his shoulder, and held still for a longer time, long enough that she was able to clean the wound and fix new bandages on it. She was wrapping his arm when he spoke up again, "You're quite good at this."

"Hm?"

"The bandaging, you've got doctor's hands,"

"Oh," Molly breathed out a laugh and shook her head, "I... I thought about it. I was thinking about being a pathologist, actually. I-I know it's silly-"

"It's not."

"No no, it is," Molly closed her eyes tightly, her nose wrinkling a little, "I mean, someone like me... being someone like that... It's ridiculous. And, well. If I was a doctor now, I wouldn't be on this adventure! Looking for Hamunaptra."

Sherlock glanced over at her, "You never would have saved me,"

Ms. Hooper looked up, blinking in surprise. Her mouth bobbed for a moment, before saying softly, "Well, I guess we both have reason to be thankful that I'm not in some stinky old hospital,"

She smiled at him. When he didn't react after a moment, the smile faltered. But, then he put his hand over hers and smiled back. The woman beamed, and he decided that he ought to kiss her. It wouldn't be too bad, and her lips would be soft, much like how her hair seemed, he'd have to check - wait,  _what?_ He frowned and shook his head. 

"Mr. Holmes, are you-"

Sherlock cut in hastily, "Yes, I'm fine, are you fine,  _I'm_ fine. Fine. Good-"

"Well you just looked-"

"We've got transport,"

Both Sherlock and Ms. Hooper jumped in surprise. Lestrade was standing at the entrance of the tent, raising an eyebrow at the pair of them. Ms. Hooper let out a noise that might have been a laugh, or a sound of distress, and hastily turned her attention to finishing wrapping Sherlock's arm.

"We'll be out soon," Sherlock promised.

Lestrade nodded, adding a quick, "Hurry up," before leaving.

"That ought to do it," the Egyptologist said, pulling away from Sherlock. He glanced down at the bandage as she went on, "I'll go find Jim. Get dressed,"

She got to her feet, collecting the makeshift med kit. Before leaving the tent though, she hesitated, as if expecting something. He made the tiniest of frowns, and decided it would be best to ignore her, reaching to grab his shirt. As he pulled his arms through the sleeves, Ms. Hooper spoke up.

"You know, most people say thank you," Her voice was quiet, as if she was embarrassed to be speaking to him in such a way. Sherlock's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, pausing in his buttoning.

Slowly, as if he was speaking a foreign language, he said, "Thank you."

Barely glancing at him, Ms. Hooper made a flinch with her chin that might have been a nod, and hurried out of the tent.

 

* * *

 

"I hate camels," Lestrade grumbled as they sauntered out of town. He pointed a finger at Sherlock's camel, which moaned. The warden was convinced it was a noise of satisifaction, "That one bit me! Bit me, it did! And they smell too, don't they?"

"Well then, I don't understand, Lestrade," Jim said, "You should feel right at home with them."

"Ha ha," he replied dryly, "Is that what you teach at the university? Comedy?"

Holmes snorted, and reached forwards to rub the top of his camel's head. He murmured to it, "Good camel,"

"You bribed it to bite me, didn't you?" Lestrade thundered, hearing the man despite his volume.

"Me? No no, I wouldn't dare stoop to such levels. It's not my fault if you don't have the same way with animals as I do." Holmes smirked, leaning forwards to scratch behind the camel's ear. His smugness quickly dissipated when the animal reared its head back, nearly smacking his nose as it bleated.

"He's just excited, that's all." Moly said, reaching over to pet her own camel. It hummed happily, to which she cooed, "Ooh, aren't they adorable?"

"How come you got the well behaved one?" Lestrade whined.

"Because I'm a lady," she grinned, wiggling in her seat to sit up straighter, "That's why."

"I could be a lady. Doesn't take much, does it? Put on a dress, maybe a bit of make up,"

Molly sighed, "Ladies are more than dresses and make up, Mr. Lestrade."

"It would do you no good to underestimate a woman, Lestrade," Jim warned, "Take my word for it. Molly is a force to be reckoned with,"

The woman smiled, and reached out for Jim's hand. Jim took hers, and leaned in to kiss the back of it.

There was a loud _"tch!"_ from the back of the group, where Holmes brought up the rear.

 

* * *

 

"Mr. Holmes?"

"Hm?"

"Oh, you're awake,"

"I'm leading the expedition. We wouldn't be going anywhere if I was asleep,"

"... Right."

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder as Ms. Hooper nudged her camel closer to his. Night had fallen on the desert, the sky looking like black ink speckled with grains of sand. The professor and the warden had dozed off on their camels. Lestrade's head bobbed with each step the camel took. Ms. Hooper had pulled the shawl of her abaya tightly around her shoulders, but the night's chill took to her. Her jaw was tight, most likely trying to keep her teeth from chattering. He raised an eyebrow, which she noticed.

"What?"

"Here, switch with me," he began shrugging off his jacket, but she shook her head, waving a hand at him.

"No no, don't bother. I'll be fine,"

"You're sure?"

"Yes," she assured him softly, grinning. Why she was grinning, he'd never know. He stilled for a moment, then pulled the jacket back on. As he did, Ms. Hooper asked, "How far is it?"

"Not far," he promised. He pointed to a dune in the distance, across a long stretch of flat ground, "Four hills, and there will be a rocky shelf. Hardly much. There are signs. We'll know when we're near, never you fear, Ms. Hooper."

"Molly,"

"Sorry?" Sherlock turned his head to look at her. Her face faltered, seeming sheepish.

"Molly, my name is Molly,"

"I know that,"

The woman let out a quiet laugh, "Well it's- it's okay to call me that. Just Molly,"

Sherlock's face twitched and contorted. _Bad idea, Holmes, it's just business,_ he reminded himself.

"Alright," he said. With a glance sideways, he smirked and added on, "I think I can manage that, Just Molly."

Even in the darkness, he swore he could see her cheeks tinge bright red. She smiled, turning her gaze away, then glanced back up.

"Well, ahm-" she mumbled for a bit, then tugged her camel's reins, turning to go to the back of the group again, "Okay."

Thinking nothing of it, Sherlock told her, "Get their reins back there and bring them here. Can't have them wandering off into the desert on the backs of camels,"

Ms. Hooper obediently did so, taking the reins from the professor and the warden and handing them over, "Here you go,"

"Thank you Ms. Hooper,"

"Molly."

"... Right."

 

* * *

 

_"Ah. See here. Divine his own right, a son of Imhotep walks the corridor,"_

_"The priest will hear us if you continue on in such-"_

_"Oh, enough worrying already. Not a glance this way, look."_

_The pair of them poked their heads out as the Pharaoh's ward, the priest of Imhotep with the lost name, disappeared around a corner. The dark-haired man let out a breath of relief, and leaned against the wall behind him, while his playful companion grinned and peeked around again._

_"Treading lightly will not keep our secret safe. We cannot continue this way. Not in public," the wary man warned._

_"Why?" A pair of raised eyebrow were tossed in the his direction. "Because we are men?"_

_"Because we are guards and we are supposed to be guarding," he reminded his lover. The other man's mouth fell into a small 'o', as if surprised, and nodded._

_"Yes, yes, of course. With such a fuss in the halls too."_

_He received an unamused frown in return. With a click of his tongue, he placed his hands on either side of the man's face, and cooed, "You worry too much,"_

_"Someone has to, when you lack worry yourself," he sighed, holding the hand pressed to his left cheek in his own hand._

_"I have you to take care of me,"_

_"Is that enough?"_

_"My life is in your hands to worry about. This life, and the next, and the other after that, all of them until time runs dry,"_

_"Mm hm," the dark-haired man murmured, "And you will take care of me, I assume?"_

_"And I will take care of you," his lover confirmed, and pressed their lips together._

 

* * *

 

He jolted up in his sleep, blinking quickly to get rid of the blur in his vision. The night sky was turning purple, lighting along the horizon. Nearly sunrise. He looked to his right, having been nudged sharply in his right rib.

Kirk smiled the same amused grin from the dream, "Rise and shine, princess, before you slip off your camel,"

"Yes. Yes, of course, captain," Spock said quickly, and turned his gaze forwards, facing the dawn of the new day.


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamunaptra, 1926

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Guess who's back, back again  
> Sammy's back, tell a friend  
> Guess who's back,  
> guess who's back,  
> guess who's back....~

The sky was turning purple above the quartet as they made it to the cliff face. Holmes guided them along the bottom of it, heading for the peak of the rock. The shadow cast by the rock shelf made their sight difficult. Fragile rocks crunched under the camels as they walked, swaying side to side more cautiously.

 

Molly was still wearily waking up, thankfully still on her camel. Jim was riding beside her, seeming to have been waiting for her to open her eyes.

 

"Morning, love," he cooed. She moaned softly, still blinking sleep out. Rolling her shoulders, she winced through the popping sensations that seemed to go all the way down her back. Sleeping whilst sitting up was an awful idea. She just wished that Holmes would have listened to her idea of resting for the night, but he'd insisted they needed to ride until dawn. It was part of some sort of "rules".

 

Jim offered her a flask, which she took after he told her that it was water. The liquid was surprisingly cool as it trickled down her throat, and she quickly capped the container. It was too good to waste so quickly.

 

She opened her mouth to thank him, just as the warden's cheerful voice crowed, "Morning, Ms. Hooper! Lovely day, innit? Sun is shining, birds are chirpin'-"

 

Molly winced at his loud voice, still groggy enough to only close her eyes. She opened them again to see Jim leaning towards her to sneer at Lestrade, but Holmes' voice snapped them all to attention.

 

"We're not far now."

 

Jim straightened up, knocking his feet against his camel's sides hard enough to encourage the animal towards Holmes.

 

"How can you tell?"

 

Holmes spared a glance over his shoulder, and Molly was surprised to see, not superior amusement, but a look of withering pity. He scanned the three people behind him, his gaze finally landing on Molly's, before he dropped it entirely. Lestrade, Jim, and Molly all looked down.

 

It wasn't rocks that splintered and cracked underneath the camels as they walked.

 

They were bones.

 

"We're not the first ones to make this trek," Holmes reminded them. His three fellow travellers were speechless in return. Molly was struck by the look of pity their guide cast down to the skulls below him. Did her fellow travellers not see Holmes' sadness?

 

As they reached the corner of the cliff and guided themselves around it, Lestrade was the first of the four to let out a disgruntled noise. Coming towards them in a large band of horses and camels, was the Enterprise crew.

 

"You lot?" the warden whined, "Thought you'd all died on the boat."

 

"We missed you too, Lestrade," Kirk replied cheerfully, waving at them as he came forwards with his camel.

 

Pike rode to the front of the group on top a chestnut horse, wincing with each trot. He looked as tired as Molly felt, the circles under his eyes making them seem bruised. He was their guide, after all. Molly couldn't help but wonder how Holmes felt under the stress of consciousness.

 

"Thanks for that, by the way. Helping us out with the Medjai," the leader of the company added with a touch of bitterness.

 

"Oh, no worry at all," Holmes replied, sarcasm dripping in his own voice, "It wasn't as though we were busy with the monster from hell."

 

"Yeah yeah, you stand aside and let us do all the dancing while you-" Kirk started, but the guard Uhura cut him off.

 

"Pike, we should keep moving."

 

The guide waved a hand dismissively, "No. We wait here."

 

"Why?"

 

Holmes moved forwards on his camel, speaking in lieu of the Enterprise's leader, "Hamunaptra was a cultural center for Amun-Ra, the sun god. The city won't appear to us now."

 

Molly glanced at the sky, inky blues giving way for brighter streaks, "It's nearly sunrise,"

 

"Exactly," Holmes nodded to the guard across the space between companies, "It'll show. Patience."

 

Uhura bristled, an action which made Kirk pat her back, "Come on, we've waited eight months for this trek. What's another few minutes wait for the sun?"

 

"We could make it more fun," Lestrade called over, "Once we know where we're going, we can make a race out of it."

 

"Ooh, that'd be fun!" Molly said, nodding across to the man and woman. Kirk absolutely beamed.

 

"You're on."

 

From somewhere behind the captain, one of the Enterprise members groaned. Molly looked to the horizon eagerly, prepared for the sun's rise to show them the way. Maybe the city was underground, and its entrance was hidden in the shadow of dunes. Maybe its architecture was designed to reflect the night sky, like a mirror. Surely if she squinted at the sky, the stones would reveal themselves, melded together in precise patterns like a painted mural.

 

The greatest thing her imagination could come up with was nothing to the reality that appeared - quite literally - before her. As the curve of the sun broke the horizon, the air rippled like water, shimmering like a mirage. Shadows were cast on the sands as buildings appeared, nestled between two dunes. A wind whistled past, casting a sand wall over the sight before falling. Like a curtain giving way to a show, Hamunaptra appeared before their eyes.

 

With a chorus of hoots and hollers, the Enterprise members charged forwards. Lestrade yelled, and bolted after them. With a squeal of excitement, Molly took Holmes' good arm and tugged at his sleeve, "Hurry, hurry! Let's go!"

 

Holmes grinned, and kicked at his camel's sides, following the librarian to the city. Head for head, they caught up with the knot of adventurers and giggled as they overtook the Enterprise. Lestrade and Kirk led the race, tugging on one another to knock the other man off his camel.

 

"Go Lestrade, go!" Molly cheered. Holmes egged his camel on, gaining a lead on her. She laughed, and ushered her own animal forwards, "Not so fast!"

 

"Isn't fast the point?" he called over his shoulder. Molly raced with him, galloping on to meet Kirk and Lestrade.

 

"Welcome to the front, Ms. Hooper!" Lestrade called over, and yelped suddenly when Kirk flicked his whip over at him, "Watch it, you bastard-!"

 

"What'd I do? Didn't do anything, did I?" Kirk grinned over at Molly.

 

Molly rolled her eyes, but couldn't reply - Lestrade and Kirk were busy whipping each other. She giggled and nudged ahead of their bickering, crying out to her camel, "Hut hut hut! Ooh, gee, hut-hut!"

 

"What the hell are you doing?" Holmes asked behind her, digging his toes into his animal's sides to try and catch up.

 

"Winning!" she yelled back, and charged forwards, past the rest of the racers, soaring towards the undead city. She continued calling out commands, _hut hut hut, forward forward forward!_

 

Wind whipped past her, sand being kicked up into her eyes, but she was so full of exuberance that none of it mattered. Hamunaptra's walls grew larger and larger, and she was right at its gates. Holmes and Lestrade whooped and cheered behind her. She beamed, tossing her hair back. She patted her camel's neck, "C'mon girl, we're nearly there!"

 

The high posts that were once torches in the night disappeared in her dust.

 

"Ms. Hooper-!" Holmes called behind her, cheering her on. But he continued on, his voice carrying from the distance, "Watch it, there's a-!"

 

The camel yelped, and Molly cried out, as both rider and animal tumbled over the rise of sand. Molly landed hard on her bum, while her camel skittered its legs about, moaning in distress. The librarian huffed, rubbing her tender behind.

 

There was the sound of hooves, and soon enough Mr. Holmes was towering over her. Concern flit over his face until he saw that they were perfectly fine. Then, he gave a sigh, shaking his head while (poorly) trying to repress a smile at the sight.

 

"-a ramp. Well then. Welcome to Hamunaptra, Ms. Hooper."

 

* * *

 

The Enterprise’s company moved as if they had been visiting the ancient city for years, setting up tents by a temple’s sealed doorway and getting to work on prying it open. Sherlock’s expedition, however, was waiting still at what had once been the front arch as Molly looked around in awe. Lestrade leaned against one column, arms crossed and foot propped up casually as if he were still loitering about the prison. Jim Brooks was as still as the statues around him, his head tipping side to side every so often. It reminded Sherlock vividly of the last visit he spent in Hamunaptra, avoiding the snakes that buried themselves just enough to be hidden in the sand, waiting patiently to strike. The detective shook his head, and decided to rest against a fallen statue.

 

“Ooh, Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes, don’t do that!” Molly rushed over. Sherlock, barely sitting down, got up with a sigh, “Don’t you see, it’s a monument to the Pharaoh Seti the First’s daughter-!”

 

“Seti didn’t have a daughter,” Sherlock scoffed, crossing his arms.

 

“Wh- yes, yes he did!” Molly looked baffled by Sherlock’s input, “If we agreed with rumours, two actually. Princess Tia and Henutmire, depicted here-”

 

She gestured to the statue’s nose, which Sherlock had nearly used as a seat. As Sherlock’s eyes rolled to the sky, Lestrade hastily cut in, “Look, I came for treasure. Shall we get cracking already?”

 

Molly looked disgruntled, “I suppose.”

 

Lestrade harrumphed, and fixed his jacket. The librarian set off, heading into the city. The boys followed her, trotting along to the Enterprise’s set up, only to realize Molly was going entirely the wrong way.

 

“Molly?” Jim offered cautiously. She smiled at the boys as if they were fools. Sherlock frowned in her direction.

 

“What we want isn’t in that temple,” she said. Her tied back hair flipped over her shoulder as she spun around, walking off. Glancing between each other, they all shrugged and followed after.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, uh, Pike?"

 

The Enterprise's guide looked from where he was supervising his crew, over to the young captain squinting over the city, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Shifting his leg uneasily, Pike went over to see what Kirk was seeing. Across the city, right by a statue of Anubis, the smaller group of adventurers were converging around a trap door.

 

"What're they doing?"

 

"Doing exactly what we're doing. Exploring,"

 

Kirk gave a small snort, shuffling his feet, "Yeah, right. Seriously, Pike... do they know something we don't?"

 

"Don't you worry about them," Pike clapped Kirk on the shoulder, "You think they can get it before we do? You have seen the person leading them, right? Tiny little girl,"

 

"Yeah," Bones spoke up as he fell into step with them, "Tiny little girl that made you eat her dust camel racing."

 

* * *

 

Molly was so excited, she was all but singing. She practically danced in front of the statue, pointing out all the features to the boys.

 

"Now that's the statue of Anubis, Lord of the underworld. Most of this place is buried under sand, so its legs will be deep underneath us. We'll need go straight down, right underneath, where - well, hopefully - we'll find what we've came for,"

 

"Treasure?" Holmes spoke up sardonically as he fiddled with a thin silver orb.

 

"Of a sort," Molly replied, batting his hands away from the orb. He pouted, but she paid his fit no attention.

 

"Hopefully of a gold sort," Lestrade grunted out as he heaved their equipment off one of the camels.

 

Jim pushed his sleeves to his elbows and fastened a rope around a pillar, "One way to find out. Let's crack this open here. A hand, please."

 

After a moment - when it became clear Molly was too distracted by studying the statue, and Holmes simply did not care - Lestrade gave a sigh and went to help the professor open the trap door. With a grunt and a quick lift, the rickety thing swung open. Curious, the four adventurers peeked inside, staring into the darkness below.

 

"Ladies first?" Holmes asked. Molly huffed in his direction.

 

"I can't see a thing, how are we supposed to know how deep it goes?" Lestrade wondered.

 

Molly looked up, staring at the disk she'd shooed Mr. Holmes away from.

 

"Looks like we'll need a bit of light,"

 

* * *

 

Lestrade's boots thumped against the ground as he landed. Molly passed a torch over to him, squinting into the shadows. Mumbling to herself, she picked up her own and wandered off.

 

"This place is ancient... no one's been in here for four thousand years," she mused.

 

The only response was a loud sneeze, and Lestrade grumbling, "Ugh, no wonder."

 

"I can't see a thing," Holmes remarked.

 

Molly's elbow bumped into something sharp that gave a metallic clang. She smiled, and set her torch down. She set her hands on the silver orb and started adjusting it. At the right angle, the disc hit the sun's rays and set it to other orbs across the room. The room was filled with light.

 

"Nice trick," Lestrade said, looking around. He fanned himself with his hat, "Yeah, that's a nice trick."

 

The librarian scooped up her torch and held it up, taking a good look at the room. Once she realized what she was looking at, she gave a small gasp.

 

"Ooh," she cooed, "This is a preparation room. Where they prepared mummies, that is,"

 

"A reassuring thought," Holmes said sardonically, beginning to lead the way. But Molly was already rushing ahead, eager to look at anything and everything. The three men followed, one in front of the other, like ducklings following their mother. Molly, Holmes, Lestrade, and Jim bringing up the rear, cautiously glancing behind them in case anything were to pop up.

 

Molly took care to light the ancient torches that lined the corridors as they went, keeping a trail as to where they knew they could get out. Then she'd turn her attention to the hieroglyphs lining the walls, reading what she could with her quick glances. It might as well have been going in one ear and out the other, but she couldn't help her excitement. She had to take a look at everything.

 

"Where exactly are we going?" Holmes asked, "There's really no point in us going around in circles like this,"

 

"Not circles, just... testing the waters," Molly said innocently, "There are stories, about all the explorers that went into the Pyramids. Hundreds have gone in, but only a few come out, because the pyramids would be filled with booby traps. Trap doors, walls that caved in, so on and so forth. Besides, it's nice to take a look around,"

 

"A look around? Like it's some person's house?" Jim cut in. Apparently, even the stoic were baffled by Molly's choice of words sometimes.

 

"A person that might not want us touching their stuff," said Holmes, "A person that might not want us to be here at all."

 

Molly gave a rich laugh at that, "Oh well, if the Egyptians didn't want us to be here, they wouldn't leave all their knowledge on these walls. They would have wanted us to learn from here. They wouldn't booby trap the whole place-"

 

As soon as she spoke the words, as if the entire city was waiting for someone to speak those very contradicting words, several things happened in quick succession. First, Molly's foot sank into the ground, pushing down a loose tile until there was a finite click. Second, the ceiling rumbled and shook, and caved in, propelling a giant stone down to what was surely Molly's doom. Third, Holmes grabbed Molly by the arm, and yanked her back so she went tumbling into his arms, safe from certain splatter.

 

The dust kicked up a coughing fit from the entire group, waving their hands in front of their faces for proper air to breathe. As it settled, Molly realized where - or rather, who - she was leaning against, and hastily straightened up. She didn't realize how Holmes' hand lingered carefully on her back as she balanced herself. Her attention was drawn to what had tried to topple them.

 

"Bloody dead people trying to kill us," Lestrade coughed, but Molly waved vaguely at him to quiet down.

 

"Do you realize... what this is?" she asked softly. The boys drew closer to her, approaching the stone as a unit.

 

"Part of the ceiling, I thought," replied Lestrade. Molly shook her head slowly.

 

"No. This... this is a sarcophagus."


End file.
